Star Wars_ The Old Republic_ Revan - Drew Karpyshyn [51]
The brilliant bluff had almost worked.
“Your words are hollow, Xedrix. Just like your power.”
Scourge marched forward with grim determination. Xedrix brought his lightsaber up, but Scourge used his own blade to slap it aside with ease. The strength of the blow sent the weapon tumbling from the old man’s frail grasp, the blade extinguishing as the hilt clattered onto the stone at their feet.
Xedrix staggered backward. He no longer pretended power: he looked desperate and afraid. “Please, Lord Scourge, I’ll give you anything you want. Slaves. Wealth. Power.”
“Power?” Scourge snorted in contempt. “You can’t give what isn’t yours.”
He slashed his blade diagonally across Xedrix’s chest, slicing him from shoulder to hip.
The old man gasped once before falling over backward, his eyes frozen wide in horror, seeming to stare up at the stalactites growing from the cavern ceiling.
Knowing that Nyriss would want proof of his death, Scourge reached down and grasped a fistful of the old man’s hair with his free hand. Then he slowly drew his lightsaber across the Dark Councilor’s throat, the glowing blade cauterizing the wound as he neatly severed the head.
He left the rest of the body—along with the corpses of the two apprentices—in the cave as he trudged back up the passage leading to the surface. As he walked, he couldn’t help dwelling on Xedrix’s warnings about Nyriss.
Much of what the old man had said to him had been lies, but the best lies were always built on layers of truth. It was entirely possible that she was using him. At the very least, he could assume she was keeping secrets from him.
Confronting her directly would be a waste of time. Fortunately, there were other ways to get information.
Despite the possible consequences, Scourge decided it was finally time for his private talk with Sechel.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REVAN SHIVERED IN THE COLD. Beside him, Malak said something, but the fierce wind whipping across the plateau devoured his words.
“What?” Revan shouted.
“Are you sure it’s here?” Malak called back.
“It’s here,” Revan said with a nod. “I can feel it.”
“Maybe it’s on the other side.”
Revan glanced over at the other peak rising up beside them, barely visible through the swirling snow. It was nearly identical to the one they were on—a tall, narrow column of wind-carved ice and snow rising up several kilometers from Rekkiad’s surface, its peak worn to a smooth, flat plain of ice.
“It’s this one,” Revan answered confidently. “The entrance is around here somewhere.”
The two figures moved slowly back and forth across the exposed plateau, searching with the Force as much as with their eyes.
“Here!” Malak shouted. “I found it!”
Revan woke from the dream with a start, his mind groggy as he tried to get his bearings.
It was cool in the thermal tent he and Canderous shared. The insulated lining kept out the worst of the weather, but the nighttime temperatures were still low enough that Revan felt a chill through two layers of clothes and his sleeping bag.
As his eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the small heater in the center of the tent, he was able to make out more details of his surroundings. Canderous was still asleep beside him, wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag and snoring loudly.
Revan’s mind began to reassemble the bits and pieces from the previous night.
He’d hoped Canderous would offer more details about his marriage to Veela after she’d stormed out of the supply shack, but he’d stayed silent on the subject. Despite his curiosity, Revan hadn’t pressed him.
Instead they’d spent the rest of the night celebrating the big man’s return to his people. Edric and the others offered up countless tales of Canderous’s youth. His many battles and victories against